The first time Nick Barkley knew the loss of death, he'd bit his trembling lip and tamped down the hurt. He'd only been a boy of seven, but he remembered the moment as clearly as a bright summer day. His pony, a high spirited appaloosa called Hidalgo, had been bit by a rattler. Father believed it best to never shield the boy from the truth, no matter how painful, and when Tom Barkley entered the corral and shot the animal, Nick did not cry.
Father turned; his face was in shadow. The brim of his Stetson rode low over his brow. Nick took in the stoic expression. The corners of the man's mouth were drawn down, mimicking the lines that creased his stubbled cheeks and jaw. The message was clear. Men don't cry. They don't feel pain.
Father knelt in front of Nick and placed a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. "It had to be done, boy," he said. "For the sake of the animal. It was suffering."
He gazed at Nick for what seemed a very long time. Nick tried his voice, hoping it would be strong enough to match his father's. "I know, sir."
One solid clap of his shoulder told Nick he'd done well. He'd said the right thing and pleased his father.
Why Nick's mind would take him back to that moment, right now, perplexed him. He'd seen death many times since, but not until this day did the memory revisit him. It made him damned angry. Angry at the world. Angry at his place in it. He pushed a hand through his hair and slammed his fist into the arm of the chair.
"Damn it, how long does it take for a man to ride in from town?" he growled.
Audra startled, her blue eyes coming into focus. She turned from the fireplace where she'd been gazing for God knew how long, not saying a word, barely breathing. She gave him a bit of rebuke in her stern look, but softened almost immediately. "You know they're coming as fast as they can, Nick. Jarrod took our fastest horse. Give them time."
"Time?" Nick tried not to shout, but knew he was losing that battle. "Heath could be dead by the time they get here. I have a half a mind to go fetch him myself if I'd—"
She stared at him with a mixture of shock and grief that made him stop. She'd been through too much already. Both of them had, having just spent the last hours in a desperate battle to stabilize their brother so he would at least have a fighting chance until the doctor arrived.
Clamoring spurs and boot steps and voices entered the front door. Jarrod's voice from the entryway broke the tension. "He's upstairs, doctor, if you'll hurry..."
Nick got to his feet and strode across the room to the stairs. He knew Audra was behind him, but he didn't wait. He passed even Jarrod and the doctor as he took the stairs two at a time. The words came out before he could think. "Bullet wound-in the hip. It's bad, Doc. You've got to help him."
The doctor was putting on his glasses and nodding. "I understand, Mr. Barkley," he said, not making eye contact, but keeping his gaze on the opening door at the top of the stairs.
"He's in here doctor," Mother said as she made way for the old doc to pass through. Her apron was smeared with blood. "We bandaged the wound as best we could."
The doctor entered the room. Mother spared Nick one brief, sorrowful glance before going back inside. A flurry of activity enveloped the Heath's pale and unconscious form.
Nick cursed under his breath, but when he moved to follow them in, a firm hand stopped him.
"Give them room, Nick," Jarrod said.
Nick whirled on Jarrod. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "If the doctor needs help, I want to be in there."
It was Audra who spoke next. "Let me help." Her voice and temperament again, loosened the tension that made Nick want to snap. "I've assisted the doctor before, when Mrs. Arnold had her baby."
She eased her way beside them through the door, giving no room for Nick to protest.
"We need to talk," Jarrod said. His hand was still firm on Nick's shoulder.
It wasn't a demand, but Nick couldn't refuse. There was nothing for him to do here at the house to help Heath, but there sure as hell was something he could do in town. He took a step back from the door. "Those Wilson brothers," he muttered as he moved past Jarrod to go back down the stairs.
Jarrod followed him. "How do you know it was them?"
"They've been boasting all over town about payback. How they were going to go after the Barkley's for 'taking their land.'" Nick stormed into the den where the gun racks waited. He took a rifle from the wall, sited it. "We'll just see who gets the payback now."
Jarrod grabbed the barrel. "This isn't the way."
"Like hell it isn't!"
"We need proof, Nick. Proof that can stand up in court and then we go after them, but with the law behind us."
Nick snarled, jerked the barrel away. "Sometimes a man has to take justice into his own hands to protect his family. Or have you forgotten what Father taught us all those years? Family comes first, Jarrod. Before anything else, even before the law that you love so much."
Jarrod dropped his hand to his side and assessed his brother carefully. "Frontier justice. Is that what you want? It got Father killed."
Nick clenched his jaw and wrapped his fingers tighter around the rifle. The last thing he wanted to do was punch Jarrod in the teeth, but the thought pleased him and his hands trembled to do it, to release some of his building hostility. "Out of my way."
"It's your choice." Jarrod stepped back, gave him room to do as he wanted.
Nick glared at him. His brother was testing him. Maybe he figured Nick wouldn't go if he were given leave to do so. Maybe he figured he would settle down and reconsider. Nick shifted the rifle to the crook of his arm. "You figured wrong," he said. Grabbing his hat from the hook beside him, he strode to the front door and out without another glance back.
Jarrod stood a moment, watching the door as if it might open again. When it didn't, he grabbed his own rifle from the wall and followed his brother.
"God, get us through this night," he said as he shut the door behind him.
